


Astray

by leici



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leici/pseuds/leici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Kurt's busy exploring his new life in New York City, Blaine tries to deal with being left behind. Spoilers for the series up through 4x07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astray

It isn't a sure thing the instant Blaine receives the messages. Despite the fact that Eli responded to him almost immediately, Blaine doesn't reply for four hours, waiting until long after school is over, after glee club rehearsal, waiting even until he's finished his homework. He spends all of those hours contemplating, considering, getting more and more angry at the silence around him. All he'd wanted was something from Kurt: a text, an email, for him to like one of Blaine's status updates on Facebook, _anything_.

But there was nothing. It didn't matter how hard Blaine hoped, how much energy he put out into the universe, how loud he screamed inside his head, Kurt didn't hear him, didn't remember him, didn't _care_. So Blaine says yes to Eli – _yes, I want to come over_ – gives in to someone who actually sees him, thinks about him, _wants_ him.

He goes through the next day – _the_ day – like he's in a fog. He's not careless about what he chooses to wear: the shirt and the cardigan are the ones he wore the night of Rachel's party, the night where he let himself pretend that maybe he was straight, the night he gave himself up to alcohol and peer pressure and stopped caring about what what he was _supposed_ to be doing, even for just a few hours. It seems appropriate to wear this again; it's already tainted. Drunk or not, the look on Kurt's face when he'd watched Blaine with Rachel wasn't something Blaine had missed. And it's not something he's forgotten either.

He's supposed to go over to Eli's at four. The hours slide by, too slow and too fast all at once, and Blaine feels like he's surrounded by static, his ears ringing, everyone and everything around him muted. He sits through glee like a statue, and no one notices that he doesn't sing, doesn't speak up, doesn't do anything besides check his phone methodically, watching the time. No one even so much as talks to him, ignoring him like he's a piece of furniture. And that's how he feels: like scenery, like a lost possession. When Kurt was here, he was half of a whole, he was Kurt's partner, he was seen because Kurt's light shone on him. Now he's nothing, less than that, and all he wants is to stop feeling like he stopped existing the moment Kurt left him behind.

In his car in the parking lot, he sits, still and quiet, the engine off, stomach rolling. He's nervous and anxious and lost, washed out to sea and drifting. His anchor is gone, the line unceremoniously cut, and he just keeps swimming and going nowhere.

He makes one last attempt, pulling out his phone and dialing Kurt's number, typing the digits in to prove that he's got them memorized, that _he_ hasn't forgotten. The phone rings, five, six, seven times; at least this time he's not getting declined. He hangs up as soon as the outgoing voicemail message kicks on, knowing it so well that he can cut it off just at the sound of Kurt inhaling, right before he speaks. Even just the sound of Kurt's breath makes the center of Blaine's chest ache, and he's instantly angry. There's a voice in the back of his head telling him to be reasonable, to remember that Kurt's at work and can't just answer the phone at 3:45, no matter who's calling. But there have been too many missed calls and unreturned texts, too many nights where Blaine needed Kurt, but Kurt couldn't find the time for him.

Kurt had made promises, before graduation, but they're all broken now, every last one of them. Blaine has never been more alone than he is in this moment, even when he had to transfer schools to escape the bullies that put him in the hospital. Until now, Kurt's been his future, but Blaine's not sure anymore. If all it takes for Kurt to forget him is a fancy internship, how are they going to weather the rest of their lives together? If Kurt can't see how much Blaine needs him, can't sense the tension or hear the loneliness in his voice, how are they going to make a grownup relationship work? Or a marriage?

The thing is, there's doubt in Blaine's heart that has never, ever been there before. For the first time since he kissed Kurt in the study room at Dalton, he thinks maybe Kurt's not his destiny. If they were really meant to be, he wouldn't feel like this: cast aside and unimportant and hollow. He wouldn't feel so _abandoned_.

Blaine stares at his phone for five solid minutes, waking it back up every time the screen goes black, but Kurt doesn't call. And that's the last straw; Blaine tosses the phone into his glove box and starts his car.

Eli's house looks like anyone else's. Blaine's not sure why he expects something different, like what he's about to do warrants something daunting or remarkable in some way. But it's just a ranch-style house with a clean yard and a Volvo in the driveway. He sits out front for a couple minutes, staring at his steering wheel. He feels like a shell, empty inside like his heart is just _gone_. He thinks about checking his phone one more time, but it's six minutes after four, it's too late. Kurt had his chance and he didn't answer. This is it.

Eli opens the door, and Blaine realizes he's never actually seen him before. His picture on Facebook is of a lighthouse, which Blaine remembers really liking when the friend-request showed up in his inbox. Blaine's not even sure why Eli wanted to be his friend in the first place, outside the fact that they're two of about a dozen gay, male teenagers in Lima. Blaine's profile isn't particularly fleshed out, but one of the things that's always been in place is his relationship status. There's no reason Eli should have thought he was available, even now; Blaine's still in a relationship with Kurt Hummel, at least as far as the internet is concerned.

Blaine's first impression of Eli is that he's very plain. Not unattractive, but not bright-eyed and beautiful and perfectly put together like Kurt. The immediate internal comparison just strengthens Blaine's resolve, and Eli smiles and gives Blaine a once over that makes him feel instantly sexy and wanted in a way he hasn't since Kurt left.

"You look way hotter in person than you do in your profile picture," Eli says as he closes the door, and Blaine wants to feel good about the compliment, but then he remembers that his current picture on Facebook is of him and _Kurt_ , grinning at each other from the Nationals win celebration in the choir room. The thought stuns him, but he tries to shake it off, smiling humbly.

"Thanks," he replies, trying hard to act like he's not uncomfortable. "I'd say the same, but..."

"Yeah, I know. The lighthouse," Eli responds with a laugh. "I'm not trying to hide anything, I promise," he goes on, pushing his hands into his pockets and looking sort of cute and shy. "It's just that I just moved here," he explains, sounding wistful. "From Massachusetts. Provincetown. And I miss it, the ocean, the sky."

Blaine should probably say something, but he doesn't hear anything after Eli says the name of his hometown. He feels like he's suddenly underwater and can't breathe, and he can only manage to force a smile and a nod. Eli frowns a little and Blaine knows he's not doing a very good job of hiding his discomfort.

"Do you want something to drink?" Eli asks, and it snaps him out of his trance, reminds him why he's here.

"No," Blaine replies, tongue numb. "Can we just..." He pauses, making sure to meet Eli's eyes. "Go upstairs?" His voice breaks a little, but Eli must think it's because he's turned on, his eyes darkening as he nods, looking directly into Blaine.

"Yeah," he says, and Blaine is so glad that he just turns and heads up the stairs without catching Blaine's hand or moving in for a kiss or anything. Because, frankly, Blaine's not ready for that, not yet.

Still, he follows Eli up the stairs, his eyes fixed on Eli's belt, and all he can think is how cheap it looks, how Kurt wouldn't be caught dead in something that chintzy. He forces himself to look at Eli's ass instead, because he needs his brain to stop reminding him that this _isn't Kurt_ , that, for the first time, he's going to be kissing and touching someone who isn't his boyfriend. He reminds himself that he's doing this because his _boyfriend_ doesn't need him anymore, that his _boyfriend_ is moving on without him, has a future that doesn't include him. _That's_ why he's here, that's what he's doing. He's moving on, too.

It's weird how similar Eli's room is to Blaine's, and it makes him feel a little more at ease, especially when Eli closes the door, sealing them off from everything else. Eli crosses the room and stands close enough to touch, lifting his hand to cup Blaine's cheek. "Is this okay?" he asks softly as he leans in for a first kiss, their mouths just barely brushing, dry but warm.

"Yes," Blaine whispers, leaving his eyes closed, not wanting to see Eli staring at him, knowing if he sees Eli's eyes he won't be able to go through with it. It doesn't matter anyway, because Eli pushes back in immediately, his lips damp now, probably from licking them. Again, there's absolutely no spark, but this kiss lingers a bit longer, and Eli exhales, his breath hot against Blaine's upper lip. It causes a whimper to rise in the back of Blaine's throat, the sensation bringing a thousand memories to the front of his mind, and he lets himself fall into it, into thinking about Kurt, into longing for kisses he can't have, replacing them with ones he _can_.

The shift is fast; Blaine tilts his head and Eli moves in countermotion and their mouths open to each other. It feels nice, having someone's tongue in his mouth, and Eli doesn't taste like Kurt, but he tastes good, sort of like root beer or vanilla, sweet in a way that doesn't seem real. Or appropriate. But Blaine feels his body reacting, his pulse jumping beneath the skin of his throat, blood sliding downward, settling and pooling. He has his arms around Eli's waist before he thinks, pulling them closer together, and he can't even tell the difference between his past and his present, because he's kissing Kurt now, he's holding Kurt, the erection against his thigh is familiar and sweet.

Except Eli ruins it by wrapping his hands around Blaine's biceps instead of crossing his forearms behind Blaine's neck the way Kurt always does, and it jolts Blaine back into painful reality. He's not _with_ Kurt, Kurt doesn't want him anymore. He's here with this other boy because he can't stand being so lonely it feels like he's dying. Fumbling, Blaine pushes his hands between them, fingers numb as he opens the buttons down the front of Eli's shirt. He slides his hands immediately underneath, shocked to find skin and not another layer of clothing. He feels the coarse hair on Eli's chest, Eli's tiny, hard nipples, and Eli moans and arches and sucks on his tongue, wanton and hot.

It makes Blaine feel sick, and he has to pull off, training his gaze on Eli's jawline. He lets his eyes stay unfocused so he can't absorb any of the details, wanting to be able to forget everything as soon as he walks out the door. The pause must make Eli think that Blaine wants him to take over, and he reaches out to unbutton Blaine's cardigan. Blaine can't keep his eyes from finding Eli's face, can't help but notice the heated way Eli looks at him when he peels the sweater off and tosses it behind Blaine on the bed.

"You are so hot," Eli breathes, his palms coming to rest on Blaine's pecs over his undershirt, shifting down to feel the muscles beneath. When he reaches Blaine's waist, Eli grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs slowly, finding Blaine's eyes as if seeking permission.

"Yeah," Blaine tells him, acquiescence heavy on his tongue. "Take it off."

Eli smiles, pleased and turned on, pulling the cotton garment up over Blaine's head, and letting it fall to the floor. "So, _so_ hot," Eli repeats, dipping to press his mouth to Blaine's sternum, kissing a wet trail downward as he anchors his hands on Blaine's hips. It takes Blaine a dazed moment to realize what Eli's got planned, but as soon as he does he panics, catching Eli by the shoulders.

"No!" he gasps, sounding terrified, and Eli looks up before he stands, eyes wide like he's been slapped. "Can we– On the bed?" Blaine asks, trying to just sound nervous, swallowing hard against the bile rising in the back of his throat.

"Oh," Eli replies, face flushing with a shy smile, and Blaine hates himself instantly when he realizes that he finds the expression kind of cute. "Sure," Eli goes on, and he moves toward the bed, this time catching Blaine's hand and pulling him to sit down beside him.

As soon as they're both sitting, Eli moves in and starts kissing Blaine again. Not his mouth this time, his neck, down the left side and along his collarbone, finding the hollow and pressing his tongue inside. Blaine is shaking, but not from pleasure. He feels like his insides are coiling tighter and tighter, like everything is starting to come out sharp and clear, the lines no longer blurred. Eli's tongue circles his left nipple and he can't help the way it makes him gasp, one hand finding the back of Eli's head, fingers threading through his hair. It's not soft like Kurt's, not sticky with pomade and hairspray, and the hand on his knee isn't deft or clever, it's fumbling and a little rough as it pushes toward his groin. Eli's fingers bump the seam at the crotch of Blaine's jeans and Eli's mouth is sucking softly just over his heart, and Blaine can't do this, he _can't_.

"Stop, stop," he pants, pulling his hand out of Eli's hair, and he must sound urgent enough that Eli disconnects almost entirely, leaving just that one hand resting against Blaine's thigh.

"What's wrong?" Eli asks, and he sounds hurt and it makes Blaine feel a million times worse.

"I–" Blaine tries, but he doesn't know how to answer. He can't just say _I'm cheating on my boyfriend, I'm using you to stop feeling so lonely, I'm scum, I'm the worst person alive_ , so he says the first other thing that comes into his head. "Can I have a glass of water?" He's a little proud of how clear and even his voice sounds, because he feels like his throat is closing up. "My mouth is really dry."

Eli blinks at him for a long second, concerned, and Blaine forces what he sincerely hopes is a seductive smile. "You're sort of blowing my mind," he says, voice low and husky. It seems to have the desired effect, making Eli smile and blush.

"Okay," Eli agrees, pushing up off the bed and going around the other side where there seems to be an attached bathroom. Blaine watches him go, and, as soon as he's out of sight, reaches down to grab his shirt off the floor, tugging it quickly back on. His heart is hammering and he feels nauseous; all he can think about is Kurt's face, Kurt's eyes, the sound of Kurt's voice. He rubs his hands over his face and up into his hair, feeling intensely like he's going to throw up, his chest heaving.

He hears Eli returning a second later, his soft footfalls on the carpet, so he doesn't jump when Eli asks, "You okay?"

God, Eli's voice sounds so kind, and Blaine realizes he doesn't know anything about this guy. He doesn't know what Eli's life is like, what he wants for his future, if he really likes Blaine or if he just wants someone to lose himself in. Just because Blaine's hurting, because he doesn't know how to put his feelings into words and can't just tell Kurt that he feels like he's being left behind, he's risking hurting this innocent person. In addition to Kurt. In addition to _himself_. "No," he admits, because, while he's sorry for leading Eli on, he can't go through with this. He _can't_.

"Is it because I don't look at all like my profile picture?" Eli wonders with a laugh, probably trying to get back the lightness of the moment in the foyer. And Blaine feels terrible, but he can't joke, he can't even try to let Eli down gently, because it's like his heart is dying, wrung out in his chest. It doesn't matter that he's stopping now, that they only kissed and barely touched and that Blaine spent most of the time thinking about Kurt. It doesn't matter because he _did it_ , he cheated on Kurt. He kissed someone else and felt someone else's hands on him, he gave away parts of himself he'd only ever wanted to give to Kurt. They were perfect, the only one each of them had ever had, and now that's _ruined_. Blaine's destroyed that perfection forever.

"I'm sorry, I- I have to go," Blaine says, and he can't even make himself look at Eli, can't feel his fingers when he grabs his cardigan off the foot of the bed. His hands are shaking so badly he doesn't even attempt to put the sweater on, has no idea how he makes it to the bottom of Eli's stairs without tripping because his legs are turning to liquid. He can hear Eli call his name, and can't keep himself from sobbing as he pulls at the front door for a frantic moment before realizing it's bolted. It takes some concentration as numb as his fingers are, but he finally manages to get it open, hurrying to close the door behind him then rushing to his car. He tosses his cardigan carelessly into the passenger seat and drives off without buckling his seatbelt.

He only makes it about a block before he has to pull over, mostly because he's ninety percent sure he's going to puke. He opens the door and swings his legs out, dropping his head between his knees and breathing. He can hear himself, the echoing of his gasping breaths. He sounds like he's crying, and he has to touch his face to verify there are no tears there. It's obviously a panic attack, though he hasn't had one in years, not since he transferred to Dalton.

He doesn't vomit, but he also can't stop shaking. The only reason he climbs back into his car is because he's also shivering, freezing without his sweater. He drives home on autopilot, not seeing the road or other cars or anything at all, but somehow he finds himself in front of his own house in one piece. He sits there for a long minute, praying his parents are out, because he doesn't want to talk to anyone, just wants to shut himself up in his room and never come out.

When he finally calms down enough to go inside (just in case either or both of his parents _are_ home), he opens the glove box to pull his phone out, pressing the button to light the screen. There are two alerts staring him in the face: a missed call and a voicemail. Both from Kurt.

Blaine brings the phone closer so he can read the timestamps: 3:58PM. He feels his chest seize and stomach churn; if he'd checked his phone before he went into Eli's house, he would have seen them. If he'd left it out where he could see it while he was driving, he would have heard it ring, could have talked to Kurt. Maybe he would have confessed his fears, or even fought with him, it doesn't matter. Any contact _at all_ might have kept Blaine from going into that house, heading up to that room and getting into bed with someone who wasn't his beloved, his future, his _soulmate_.

He can't bring himself to listen to the message. He dries his tears on the end of his sleeve, grabs his cardigan and pockets his phone before walking numbly to his front door. He goes straight upstairs - his house echoing and empty, just as he'd hoped - dropping his phone on the bed and then stripping, tossing his clothes into the hamper. He has a thought that maybe he should throw them away, cut them into pieces and take them out back to burn in the fire-pit, as if destroying them will take away what he's done.

It's that same sentiment that has Blaine in the shower for forty minutes, scrubbing at the skin of his chest until it's pink and stinging, until his nipples are rubbed raw. He refuses to look at himself in the mirror when he brushes his teeth, spits and rinses his mouth and then does it again, doesn't stop until he can't taste anything but the sharp mint of the toothpaste, can't remember what it was like to have Eli's lips on his own, to feel Eli's mouth and teeth and tongue.

Back in his room, he puts on his pajamas and climbs into bed even though it's only just after five-thirty. His head is throbbing and he feels like his belly is full of snakes, his stomach churning with guilt. He sits there, back against the headboard, blankets pulled over his lap, and thinks about the last time he and Kurt talked on Skype, the happiness in Kurt's eyes, how good he'd looked. And, even though Kurt kept changing the subject back to New York, Blaine would give anything to go back and relive that night, to see Kurt - perfect and beautiful and full of joy - without the burden of his own sin.

He realizes he doesn't even remember the color of Eli's eyes, can't remember what Eli's shirt looked like. It's only been an hour and the details are blurring and fading already.

But Kurt, Blaine remembers _exactly_ what Kurt was wearing the first time they ever took each other's tops off, more than a year and a half ago. He remembers the width of the pinstripes on Kurt's vest, that there were seven buttons down the front, that the tie Kurt was wearing had a dark grey paisley pattern on it. The button up shirt underneath had sleeves that rolled up at Kurt's biceps, the cuffs bunching around the muscles there and catching when Blaine pulled it off. The cotton undershirt had fit so perfectly Blaine could see Kurt's nipples, hard with arousal, poking up beneath the fabric. He remembers the way Kurt gasped and arched when Blaine mouthed down the pale line of Kurt's throat, when his fingers brushed the soft, thin skin stretched across Kurt's chest, the color that blossomed as Blaine's lips marked every inch of exposed flesh.

He gave Kurt an orgasm for the first time that afternoon, bent over him to kiss promises into his skin, finding out how sensitive Kurt's nipples were beneath the gentle attention of Blaine's teeth. Kurt's body moved in ways Blaine hadn't dared imagine, the first contact between Kurt's cock and Blaine's thigh completely unintentional, an accidental nudge. But then Blaine had leaned down into it, encouraged by Kurt's broken moan, by the way his chest rolled up against Blaine's mouth. It hadn't taken long after that, Kurt's voice breaking on Blaine's name and Kurt's hips jerking, wetness blooming where they were pressed up tight together.

Reciprocation came when Kurt pushed them over, his clever mouth spreading kisses, wicked tongue leaving wet trails all over Blaine's skin. Laying down between Blaine's legs, Kurt sucked the first of dozens of successive hickeys into the flesh right above Blaine's heart, fingers tight and desperate on Blaine's hips as Blaine humped up against his belly.

For days afterward they'd both been shy, embarrassed about taking it farther than they'd intended, worried they'd gone too far. But when they finally discussed it, alone in Kurt's bedroom the following Friday afternoon, Kurt had admitted he couldn't stop thinking about it, about Blaine, about how amazing it felt. How remembering made him feel hot all over. That he wanted it again.

The memory is precious to Blaine, but right now it's like poison in his soul. All he wants is for Kurt to be here with him, for Kurt's hands and Kurt's mouth to undo all the damage he's done, to have Kurt's touch burned back into his skin. For Kurt to reclaim everything he's given away. He wants to fall apart, to confess and bleed the heavy betrayal out of his heart, to have Kurt pull him into his arms and make him whole again.

Against his duvet, his phone vibrates, heralding a text message. Picking up the phone with a shaking hand, Blaine feels his heart skip a beat to see the message is from Kurt. It doesn't even matter what it says ( _Hey, are you around?_ ); it's the sign Blaine's been waiting for since yesterday, the perfectly timed omen to tell him what he's supposed to do.

He doesn't reply to the text, but he gets out of bed immediately, going to his computer. He buys a ticket for the flight that gets him into New York the earliest on Friday night, not even flinching at the seven hundred dollar price tag. Once the confirmation arrives in his inbox, he shuts the computer down, crawls back into bed, and turns off the light. Closing his eyes, he feels a comforting warmth spread through him; it's going to be okay. In two days he'll be with Kurt, he'll be close enough to pull Kurt into his arms, to see Kurt's eyes and hear Kurt's voice against his ear. He'll be _with Kurt_. And that's all he needs.


End file.
